


Wherever We Go

by Penny_P



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P
Summary: After Neelix announces his plans to leave Voyager, Samantha reflects on the circumstances of Naomi’s birth.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Wherever We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the Season 7 episode “Homestead” but referring back to Season 2’s “Deadlock.”

Naomi buried her head in her pillow, sobbing. Samantha Wildman gently rubbed her daughter’s back, offering silent comfort. When Neelix stopped by to tell them he was leaving the ship to return to the Talaxian colony, Naomi had reacted with shocked silence. As soon as Neelix left, clearly disappointed by Naomi’s reaction, she had run into her room and thrown herself on the bed.

It had been a long time since Naomi had cried like this, Sam thought. She was growing up so fast and seemed to possess an old soul. She had absorbed the ups and downs of life on Voyager with an equanimity that Sam sometimes envied. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time her daughter had really cried about anything.

However, she did remember the _first_ time. That night was still a vivid memory, one that would never fade.

=^=

The baby was still crying, her little face squinched up and beet red in the effort to vocalize her discomfort. Sam stood beside the bassinet, feeling helpless. The baby had been crying almost continuously since they were discharged from Sickbay and returned to quarters. Sam had picked her up a couple of times but that had not helped. It was as if the infant could sense Sam’s reluctance to touch her.

This wasn’t her baby. She had watched her baby die and held the lifeless little corpse in her arms.

This baby, this bawling infant, was emphatically alive. Samantha was not entirely certain she understood the explanation she had been given, but apparently they had experienced something called a “subspace scission” which created a duplicate of Voyager, right down to a duplicate Samantha Wildman in labor in Sickbay. The other Samantha managed to deliver a healthy baby without complications. Then the other Voyager had been overrun by the Vidiians, and the alternate EMH had managed to save the baby and send it to this Voyager with the other Harry Kim before the alternate Captain Janeway initiated the self-destruct command.

It was all very complicated. Samantha had been in Sickbay during most of the events, either laboring or watching her baby girl fight for her life, but she was told that Harry Kim had died. When he walked into Sickbay with this baby and placed it in Sam’s arms, she thought she must be mistaken. And if she was mistaken about him, perhaps her mind tricked her into believing she was mistaken about her daughter: her daughter had not died at all. It had been some kind of nightmare, and so she accepted the child joyfully.

But now … now she stared at the crying child and remembered the limp, lifeless daughter she had held. The reality of the situation had finally sunk in once she was back in her own quarters. This was the daughter of the other Samantha Wildman. This was not the child she had carried for so long or delivered with so much pain.

This was not _her_ child. Her child had died of a cell imbalance caused by complications of delivery that were easily treatable and which was being successfully treated, until the attacks on the ship interfered with the medical equipment. Then, it was just too late.

Oh, the EMH had assured her that this child’s DNA was perfectly identical to that of her deceased daughter, but it didn’t matter. DNA notwithstanding, this was not her child. Her child was dead, and Samantha felt no connection to this hungry, crying infant.  
This was not going to work out, and she needed to get this baby away from her, give her to someone who could care for it without hesitation. She set her coffee on an end table and tapped her comm badge. “Wildman to Sickbay.”

“Is anything wrong, Ensign Wildman?” came the prompt response from Kes, rather than the EMH.

“This isn’t working out,” she said. “The baby won’t stop crying.”

There was a slight hesitation. “Have you tried feeding her?”

“Not yet.” She took a breath. “I mean, this isn’t working out. This isn’t _my_ baby.”

“I understand.” As always, Kes sound sympathetic. But she hesitated before continuing, “Would you be willing to keep her overnight? If you still feel the same way in the morning, I’ll come and pick her up.”

Sam closed her eyes. Kes was asking her to give it another try. “Oh, all right,” she snapped, and terminated the connection.

After a moment, she walked back to the bassinet. The poor little thing sounded so miserable. Sam had made no effort to feed it since leaving Sickbay, hours ago. She studied the child, noting the infantile horns on the forehead that confirmed the Ktarian heritage and the blue eyes that were a human inheritance. The baby looked just like Sam’s dead little girl, except it was healthy and hungry.

As if it knew it was being scrutinized, the baby suddenly stopped crying and seemed to focus on Sam. Even though it was unlikely the baby could see anything clearly at less than a full day old, it seemed to be studying Sam just as intensely as Sam was looking at it. Two large tears overflowed from the baby’s eyes and joined the wetness of the flushed cheeks.

“Poor little thing,” Sam said softly. “It’s not your fault, is it? And you are hungry.” With a sense of resignation, she walked over to her replicator. The baby started to wail again. “Baby formula,” she ordered. “Wildman formula 001, Human-Ktarian blend. 237 milliliters. 99 degrees Fahrenheit, in a bottle.”

The formula had been programmed into the replicator weeks ago, when she was still pregnant. Based on pre-natal examinations, the Doctor had confirmed that Sam’s breast milk would not meet the nutritional requirements of her Katarian-Human daughter. He had developed a formula based on her daughter’s unique needs. She had been disappointed to learn she could not breast feed her child, but not surprised. She and Gres had discussed the many challenges, big and small, inherent in a cross-species pregnancy. The need to bottle-feed had been on the “small” list at the time. They had never even considered the possibility of complications from the Ktarian horns during delivery. But then, they hadn’t even known she was pregnant the last time they talked.

The replicator produced the filled baby bottle, and she set it on the end table beside her cup of coffee. Then she walked over to the bassinet. “All right,” she said soothingly and picked up the baby. It continued crying into her shoulder as Sam sat down on the sofa.

She arranged the child in her arms, and amazingly, it calmed a little. When she lifted the nipple of the bottle to the child’s lips, it latched on and began sucking immediately. The crying ceased, replaced by little slurping and sucking noises.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Sam said quietly. The child looked so much like hers, but healthier. They could have been twins. _In a way, they were twins,_ Sam thought. The DNA comprised identical contributions from Sam and Gres. If her daughter had lived, no one would have questioned the fact she and this baby were identical twins.

It’s almost like I had two daughters, but one of them died. She couldn’t take her eyes off the little face. She saw the similarities in the shape of tiny nose to her own, and the shape of the ears to Gres. The eyes reminded her of her own mother.  
The baby kept sucking up the milky formula. “You’ve got a good appetite, don’t you?” Sam said to her. “You’re a healthy girl.” She looked down solemnly at the baby. “Did you know you had a twin sister?”

Just hearing herself say that out loud made it seem real. “You had a twin sister, but she wasn’t healthy, and she died. Her name was … her name was Ruth.” It was the first time she had given a name to her late daughter, and as she said it out loud, it felt very right. “Ruth is my middle name, you see. And my grandmother’s name.” The little girl grunted as if acknowledging Sam’s explanation.

“Well,” she said as the bottle gave up its last bit of formula, “you certainly devoured that.” She set the bottle on the table, expecting the child to start crying again. But the little one was quiet, apparently sated for the moment. Sam lifted her to her shoulder and began rubbing the little back. “Yes. You had a twin sister named Ruth, but she wasn't as strong as you. She didn’t make it.”

Sam felt her eyes well with tears. “But you did. And your name is Naomi. Naomi Wildman. And I am your mother.”

Naomi made a small burping sound, almost immediately followed by a larger one. Feeling a sudden wetness, Sam checked and saw a little spit up on her shoulder; she’d forgotten to use a burp cloth. “Oh, well,” she said out loud. “We’re going to learn a lot together, Naomi. It’s you and me now. Wherever we go, we will go together. We’ve lost your sister and we’re so very far away from your father, but we’ve got each other. I will always be here for you, always.”

=^=

The touch of Samantha’s hand finally penetrated Naomi’s grief, and with another big sob, she rolled over and flung herself into Samantha’s arms. “I miss him already,” she said into Sam’s shoulder.

“I know,” Sam said gently, stroking her hair. “Me, too.”

“I thought he loved us,” Naomi was calming down, at least enough to talk.

“Of course he does,” Sam said. “You know he does.”

“Not anymore.” Naomi pulled back, looking uncharacteristically petulant.

Sam shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Love doesn’t work that way. You don’t stop loving someone just because you love someone else, too.”

Naomi looked at her doubtfully. “But he left us for them. Why would he leave us if he loves us?”

“They are his people, Naomi. He’s at home with them.” With her thumb, she gently wiped a tear off her daughter’s cheek. “We want him to be happy, don’t we?”

“He was happy here.” Her lower lip began to quiver again.

“Yes.” Sam sighed. “But now he will be happy there, and that’s good. We have to be happy for him.”

Naomi shook her head. “I’m just sad. I’m so sad, Mom.”

Sam smiled. “Of course you are. It’s sad when people go out of our lives. But here’s the thing, Naomi – we can be sad for ourselves and happy for someone else at the same time. It sounds contradictory but it’s not.”

“Like – like you still love my dad and you’re happy he’s still alive but you’re really sad you aren’t together?”

“Well, yes.” Sam smiled. “That wasn’t who I was thinking about, but that’s a perfect example.”

“Who were you thinking about?”

For a moment, Sam considered telling her about Ruth, but decided that would be too much to handle just now. “That’s a story for another day.” She smiled. “For now, I think Neelix would appreciate it very much if he knew you wished him well. He was really sad when he left here.”

Naomi nodded. “I will.” She paused, and then said, “You aren’t going to leave me, are you? I mean, you aren’t going to fall in love with someone in the Delta Quadrant and decide to stay here without me?”

Sam laughed. “Of course not, baby. How many times have I told you - we are in this together. Wherever I go, you go.”

Throwing her arms around Sam’s neck, Naomi finished the time-worn mantra they shared. “And wherever you go, I go, too.”

Sam’s arms tightened around her. Over the years, her initial self-deception about twins gradually had become her truth. She would never stop grieving Ruth, but she loved Naomi as dearly as if she were in fact the child of her body. Her heart was big enough to hold both unending grief and unconditional love.

Someday, she hoped Naomi would understand that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is another story first conceived as part of the Facets project. It didn’t fit there, so I reworked it a bit to be a stand-alone.


End file.
